One Look
by nico78
Summary: He had started out the night wanting to kiss Olivia, for once, for real, with no interruptions of life-altering proportions... Last chapter is up
1. Chapter 1

One Look by nico78

I don't own them, they own me, ha! No money made from here on out...

* * *

Peter walked Olivia to her car after their 'non-date'. He said good-bye, and watched her drive off. But it was all a blur. She had offered to drive him home, but he opted to walk the mile or so back to he and Walter's house. He needed the time to think about the events of the last few days and especially the last few hours.

He also needed the time to clear his head of the double shot of whiskey he'd thrown back at the bar while Olivia was in the wash room. Knowing he was about to confront his father and needing all the liquid courage he could muster.

The streets were dark and quiet and a chill was in the air. Just what he needed to keep his mind on the events of tonight. If the last ten years of his life taught him anything it was that he thought of himself as very good at reading people. And he wasn't stupid, not by a long shot.

He had started out the night wanting to kiss Olivia, for once, for real, with no interruptions of life-altering proportions. He had thought about it all day before he had called her to see how she was doing. During the conversation, he nonchalantly asked her to go out with him that night and be 'normal people' for once without the threat of death and danger around every turn. And he was doing cartwheels in his mind when she accepted.

But when she arrived and he answered the door, he saw the look on her face and heard Walter's not-so-silent plea as he went for his coat. All night he tried to stay in the moment as he kept turning over the words his father said, wondering what they meant. And at the end of he night, he had barely went about kissing her, barely thought about it even, and that was not how he envisioned the night ending.

He just couldn't get that look Olivia gave him out of his mind as he answered the door. She had looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time, gazing into his eyes and his soul. For the briefest of moments, he truly thought it was because she was happy to be going out with him.

What a narcissist, he scolded himself now, strolling through the neighborhoods around the university, the chill fended off by 90 proof whiskey and forgotten amid tumultuous thoughts.

But when he'd gone for his coat, he heard the little exchange she had with Walter. And the wheels and gears started turning in his mind which had preoccupied him all night.

Well, no more, he was getting to the bottom of it tonight, right now.

He let himself into the old house he shared with Walter, the door creaking just slightly. Astrid had fallen asleep on the couch under an old quilt and Walter probably had wandered off to bed, after all it was after midnight. Peter sat on the coffee table and gently shook her shoulder.

"Astrid."

"Peter, are you home?"

"Yeah I'm home. Do you want to stay here tonight? It's late."

"If you don't mind." She said sitting up clutching the blanket. She hesitated and looked worriedly up at him. "Peter..."

"What is it?"

"Your father's been upset all night and he wouldn't tell me anything. We played monopoly but halfway through he just stood up and went to his room and wouldn't come out. Do you know what's wrong?"

Peter looked away from her and then back. "Probably nothing. I know we're out of ice cream and he's been bitching at me for days to buy some. Maybe that's it."

"Maybe." She didn't look convinced to Peter. After all, she probably knew Walter better than he did.

"Do you have enough blankets? Do you want a pillow?" He said, hoping to deflect her questioning.

"I'm okay. You should get to sleep, you look beat."

"I am," he agreed, although for reasons he couldn't even go into right now with her. He started down the hallway towards his room. "Night, Astrid."

"Good night, Peter."

He made his way to the bathroom, thankful the walls were sturdy enough to hold him up as he was still a little buzzed. He looked at himself in the mirror—a night's worth of stubble, bloodshot eyes, drunken gaze--he did look like hell, maybe it was a good thing he didn't get to kiss Olivia tonight.

He stood over the toilet and thought of all the times Walter said he had been sick as a child. Deathly sick. But he never remembered any of it. Maybe he had been so sick and so young that he did indeed forget about it. It wouldn't be that unprecedented.

But there had been the photo in the beach house. He'd looked at it and had absolutely no memory of having it taken or where it was taken. He remembered the photo from years of vacationing there, just not how it came into existence and he had simply assumed it was normal for kids not to remember stuff like that.

And his favorite coin, as Walter told him, which he had never seen before in his life. He'd never collected coins, never liked custard, and never played with those toys Walter carted out a few weeks before. He'd always had an excellent memory, he'd probably be dead by now without it, but it seemed like there were so many black holes from his childhood. And it wasn't like he didn't remember anything from when he was younger, it just seemed like two different worlds. And that was what was making him slightly sick--two different worlds...

And then the way Olivia looked at him tonight after all she had been through in Jacksonville and the building...

He flushed the toilet and started the shower, stripped and got under the hot water.

His thoughts were traveling down a dark road. Had been all night. Even Olivia mentioned at one point he didn't seem to be himself and she got such a strange look on her face that he almost thought she was telling a joke.

So why wouldn't any one tell him the big secret? He was a big boy. Thirty-fucking-two years old and they were all tiptoeing around him like he was a child.

But if what he suspected was true, how come he didn't remember going through a door to another world? Wouldn't that be something you'd never forget?

He stepped out of the shower and headed to his room to change into some sweats and a t-shirt. He'd definitely had a few too many and his mood probably was making it worse. He had never been a jovial drunk, more brooding and hellishly introspective. And this was the mother of all brooding and hellishly introspective nights. He steeled himself because he was going to get some answers and get them now. No turning back.

He opened the door to Walter's room, the bedside light was still on as usual and his father was lying there, asleep. Peter stood over him. This was it, no going back. The truth hurts, but it will set you free, or something like that. He leaned down and shook Walter's shoulder.

"Walter, wake up."

"Peter, you're home. Did you bring me some ice cream?" his father asked muzzily.

"No, Walter, there's still no ice cream."

"Oh, drat!"

There was no stopping now. "I have something to ask you that's much more important than ice cream and I need to know the truth. I need to know what Olivia saw tonight."

Walter looked up at him and looked away. Fright and confusion, then shock, passed over his face. He did not say anything.

"Walter..."

"Peter. There's nothing. I just need some ice cream."

"Walter, Astrid told me you were upset all night. You were only upset after Olivia came and you spoke to her in the hallway. She looked at me, stared at me. Like she was seeing something in me for the first time."

Walter smiled. "Maybe she did! You were going out together on a date. she was happy. And so am I, she's a lovely girl, very smart..."

Peter ignored the babbling, "Then why did Astrid say you were upset all night?"

"Peter. I can't tell you. I can't..." Walter whispered, his eyes glistening in the dim light as he tried to look at Peter but couldn't.

"What did Olivia see, Walter," Peter said, his voice rising, his anger was quick and almost to the boiling point already, but he held it in check.

The old man still lay there not looking at him, wringing the bedhseets. The tears finally fell, but he remained silent.

"What did she see!?"

He looked at the wrinkled, tired face of his father and had no sympathy for him at this moment. He wished him to speak, willed him to, but a little part of him still hoped that maybe it really was all about the ice cream. And magic gumdrops grew on candy trees and mad scientists didn't do experiments on blond haired little girls and didn't open doors to alternate universes to snatch little boys in the dead of night...

But that was not this universe.

Peter shook his head. Dark thoughts, indeed. And still Walter wrung the bedsheets silently.

But if Walter wouldn't tell him, it was as damning as if he had said the words. And the anger was burning inside Peter, the kind of anger he only seemed to have when his father was involved. Like finding out him and Bell experimented on innocent children, including Olivia, tested LSD on young college students, and did drug-fueled experiments on God-knows-what with William Bell.

And if he was a product of any of that...

The anger made his heart beat furiously as Walter continued to lay there, staring up at the ceiling, mute. Peter could not stand there a moment longer as he could see himself quite possibly doing something he would regret later. He turned to go, his hand on the knob.

And then Walter spoke. "I would do anything for you, Peter. Please understand, that is the truth."

And at that, Peter Bishop left the room.

He threw on some jeans, grabbed his jacket and keys and walked past a wide-eyed Astrid, for it was a small house and she had heard everything. And he slammed the door behind him.

Astrid sat up from the couch, she knew something was definitely wrong and it wasn't ice cream. From the bits and pieces she heard Walter say under his breath, she suspected Walter was involved in this more than maybe he knew. And that tonight she had never seen him this way before.

She went down the hallway to Walter's room and heard him crying through the half open door. She rapped lightly and opened it fully. "Walter, what's wrong?"

"Oh Astrid, I'm so glad you're here. Peter left. And it's all my fault."

Astrid didn't know what was going on, but she sat down on the bed and grabbed his hand trying to soothe him.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter was behind the wheel of the grungy old station wagon. He was pretty sure he was sober enough to drive, but he had no idea where to go because nobody else could tell him the truth and answer his questions except his father. And he couldn't go to anybody he knew here in the city, except Olivia. If Olivia had seem him glimmer, like he suspected, she probably had no idea why. Walter probably didn't tell her—he replayed the snippet of words he heard from memory. But then again, if Walter did tell her and they were all keeping him in the dark—he punched the steering wheel.

After driving for about 20 minutes, he knew where he'd go. He ended up near the waterfront, to most people, a seedy part of Boston during the day where nobody would be caught dead. But at this time of night, people were literally 'caught dead'. He of all people should know. And he knew the place from the few times he'd come there to play pool many, many years ago.

And he didn't think he owed money to anybody there, either.

He needed a good game and a stiff drink, but he wouldn't play. _I will not play_, he told himself.

He found a parking spot down a side-street a few blocks from the bar and parked. He sat there. In the rusty old piece of shit station wagon that he remembered from his childhood. Something that he DID remember. Hard to believe he had been driving a Porsche three years ago and now he was reduced to this. William Bell got the world handed to him on a silver platter and all Walter got was a 1980 station wagon with less than 30,000 miles on it and an all expense paid trip to the loony bin.

He looked around the interior that, although stored for an extended period of time, still smelled faintly of his mother's brand of cigarettes, Winston Light 100s.

When he was young, maybe five or six, he and his mother had gone out to run some errands and she'd left a burning cigarette in the ashtray while she ran inside the store.

Being curious, he tried to smoke it just like his mother did--put it up to his lips and sucked in a really big breath. He wanted to see it come out of his nose like a dragon. But he'd started coughing and choking, thinking he was dying, and dropped it on the floor. By the time his mom threw open the door and fished it out and yelled at him, it had burned a mark on the floor.

This he remembered vividly, remembered the choking smoke and the burning vinyl and his mother shrieking at him for dropping it. Not for almost setting the car on fire, but for dropping her cigarette.

He leaned over in the dark, just barely visible under the yellow dome light looking for the burn mark. He lifted the mats, shoved an empty cup under the seat, looked under there, but the mark was nowhere.

He got out and walked down to the bar he was headed to. All the jumbled pieces that never made sense to him suddenly added up perfectly. Maybe he would play a game of pool tonight.

{}{}{}{}

"Walter, what were you and Peter arguing about? Is that why you were upset all night?" Astrid spoke to Walter now like she might speak to a child who was upset. A child on a horses's dose of assorted uppers and downers.

"Where did he go, Astrid? Will he come back?"

"I'm sure he will, he probably just needed to go somewhere and vent. Do you want to talk about what you were arguing about?"

Walter hesitated and spoke slowly, "The ice cream. He didn't bring me any."

"Seriously, Walter? I've seen stuff that I couldn't make up in my wildest dreams and you're telling me it's all about ice cream? I think you have some explaining to do. I've done my own research, I've heard you say things. I'm an FBI agent and research is my life. Don't think I haven't Googled Peter's name and seen a picture of a tombstone in a little cemetery just outside of town. And one of the inhabitants with the same name happens to be born in 1978, which happens to be Peter's birth year."

"Google... twenty-five years ago, I'd heard of the internet, but I never thought it would be of such banal importance," he looked off into the distance, his worry mounting. He pounded his fist into the bed.

"I don't like putting my nose into things that aren't my business, but whatever it is you are trying to hide from Peter, if it's big, it isn't going to be kept hidden much longer," Astrid told him.

Walter nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of, Astrid! Oh, Olivia! Maybe he went to Olivia's?!" he said excitedly and sat up. Under his breath he added, "She should know if Hurricane Peter is coming around."

"I'll call her and let her know what's going on, will that make you feel better?"

"Yes, yes, it would. He probably went to talk to her, I'm sure of it."

Astrid went to the other room to grab her cell phone from her purse and dialed Olivia's number.

"It's Astrid," she said.

"Is everything alright?" Olivia sat up, she knew something had been wrong all night.

"When Peter got home, I heard him and Walter arguing, then Peter walked out. Walter's so upset, I may have to tranq him myself. I heard a little of what they were arguing about and he seems to think Peter might be headed to see you. He said you should know if Hurricane Peter is coming around."

Hurricane Peter? Could Walter have told Peter what was going on? That would explain a lot. "I'll keep an eye out for him. Can I speak to Walter?"

"Yeah sure. Olivia, I've never seen Walter this upset. Or Peter. Whatever's going on is about to get ugly."

"Understood."

"Here's Walter."

Astrid handed the phone to Walter who covered the microphone with his hand. "Please Astrid, could I speak to Agent Dunham alone?" Astrid left the room. She already knew too much

"Olivia!"

"Walter, what happened?"

"He came in and asked me some questions. I didn't answer them, I couldn't. I-I couldn't."

She felt slightly relieved. "What questions did he ask you?"

"He wanted--no, no he demanded, to know what you saw when you came over tonight. And then when I sat here like a bumbling idiot he walked out." He drew in a breath, as if he hadn't thought about what that meant until just that moment. "He hasn't gone for good, has he?"

"Don't worry, Walter, he probably just needed some time to think." She didn't even know if she believed her own words.

"Olivia, I can't lose him over this! If he comes by please, please call me. I'm so thankful Astrid is here."

"Walter, please tell me what is going on?"

He whispered, frantic, "He was sick. You don't know what you'll do until something you love is taken away from you--" He stopped mid-sentence. "--or maybe you do know. I lost him and I couldn't bear it any more, neither could his mother. I only took what was taken from me."

"When, Walter? When did this happen?"

"He was 8 years old. I only took what was mine. _He's my son_."

"Walter, does this have to do with the door you opened? Are you telling me that you used the door to take Peter from the other side?" There were more and more times in her life lately where she was shocked at what came out of her mouth. And shocked at what Walter Bishop had done so many years ago. Shocked but not at all surprised he had gone off the deep end and locked up after it was all said and done.

She waited for his answer, seconds ticked by.

"Yes." And it took a lot to admit that, something he hadn't ever admitted to another soul, except his wife. And she had been gone for years.

"I'll keep an eye out for him."

"Thank you, agent Dunham."

And she clicked off the phone before she said what she really wanted to say to him. Disgusted at the man she had come to respect and admire despite all the horrible things she seemed to learn on a daily basis. To keep such a secret from his own son... She was torn between understanding that he only did it because he loved his son and anger for Peter, for both her and Peter and the other children Bishop and Bell had used. This man had changed all of their lives and was it all for the greater good? Was it building an army for the coming storm or just tearing people apart for the sake of it?

But the Walter Bishop she knew was not like the Walter Bishop of the past. He was a kind, smart, and caring father who loved his son. Whether it was the parts of his brain removed or his stint in St Claire's or seventeen years worth of living with it all, he had changed.

She stayed awake as long as she could, waiting on the couch for the doorbell or a knock at the door and staring into the darkness of her living room. Thinking about what revelations tomorrow might bring, until her eyes closed and she drifted off.


	3. Chapter 3

3:36 a.m.

There was a knock at her door and it startled her awake, glimpses of the dream she was having--where _she_ disappeared inside the building full of people--blending with the loud rapping and she woke up with a start, heart pounding.

She looked through the peephole, but it was not Peter. It was a police officer opening his badge. Now she was greatly worried. She opened the door.

"Agent Dunham?"

She wrapped her arms around herself against the chill and nodded, "Yes?" No, this was not happening...

"Officer Parker with Boston P.D. Do you know Peter Bishop?"

"Yes, yes, is everything alright? Is he okay?" No, this was not happening...

"Yeah, we found him wandering around near the harbor, said he'd been robbed. We took a statement from him and wanted to take him to a hospital just to be safe, but he refused treatment."

She sighed as he motioned to the car and another officer stepped out of the passenger seat, opening the back door. Olivia sighed again in relief when Peter stepped out. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. The glimmer was distracting, even more so in the dark of night than the bar they were at earlier and the drinks they had shared amiably. The drinks in her system had almost made it seem normal...

"_Peter, stop moving around!" she had told him loudly and grabbed his arm as the second Irish car bomb they'd downed hit her fast and high. He'd looked at her funny and she couldn't believe she had said that out loud, she must have been losing her tolerance for strong drink. But he only nervously laughed it off and kept talking. She'd stopped drinking at that point, not wanting to drunkenly blurt out any more of her secret..._

She didn't hear most of what the officer was saying to her.

"--a copy of the incident report." He handed it to her.

"Thank you, Officer." She took it from him.

"Good night, ma'am."

Peter climbed the steps slowly, hands in the pockets of his peacoat, and appeared under the porch light. His nose was bloody and his lip and cheek were swollen and about to turn six shades of purple. He looked at her guardedly for a few moments.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Olivia."

"Peter, are you okay? The police said you were robbed," she reached out to him not wanting to touch his face, but really just needing to touch him, to keep him still. So she put her hand on his arm.

"I think the term is 'sucker punched'," he tried to grin, but judging by the grimace he wore, it obviously hurt.

She tugged him inside and shut the door behind him.

"Walter is worried."

Peter said nothing, just shrugged off his jacket gingerly.

"And so was I. Come with me," she said.

He followed her into the bathroom and she took out some peroxide and cotton balls and tried to clean the bloody scrapes on his cheek and chin. He didn't flinch when she dabbed at them, just watched her out of the corner of his eye. She wondered if he was even going to mention the earlier fight or she would have to drag it out of him.

"What did he have to say?" he finally asked her. She saw anger flash in his eyes.

"He said you were upset and angry about something." He stared at her in the mirror, it was easier than looking into her eyes.

"I am angry about something. Something that's been kept from me for too long." He spoke quietly and evenly as if his voice might betray more than he wanted it to.

Olivia did not speak, just waited for him to ask. Or not. She looked into his eyes and there was a darkness there that she hadn't seen before. Maybe once when she'd first met him, but not since then. She finished dabbing at the scrapes and threw the cotton balls away when he held up his bloody knuckles, palm down, with a quirky smile.

"I got in a few good ones, before they took off." he explained.

"What exactly happened tonight? I thought you walked home." She grabbed some more cotton balls from under the sink and held his right hand still as she dabbed at the knuckles.

"I did. But I needed to think, so I went some place familiar. I guess a little too familiar..." he trailed off leaving her hanging about what he really meant, not meeting her eyes.

"What about between you and Walter? I talked to him earlier, he said you were arguing."

With the glimmer, his eyes were contrasting pools of darkness, hurt, sadness, and anger. She knew she was not the best at giving comfort or finding the right words to make the hurt stop, she was a rational, take-charge, no-nonsense type of gal on the outside, but she did not feel that way on the inside. On the inside, she felt too much and perhaps that is where the need to so closely guard her emotions came from. But she felt she needed to say something or he would be lost to her.

"There's not much to say. I argued. He was silent and that said enough."

She took his left hand in hers, it was worse than the right, and he flinched when she grabbed it a little too tightly. "Peter, I want you to know that whatever is said--whatever you find out from Walter, I don't want you to run away from it. I don't want it to drive a wedge between you and him again. The Bureau cannot afford to lose you. And...and I can't afford to lose you." She looked up to meet his eyes then, to make sure he understood the importance of what she was saying. "You stood by me even when I didn't think I needed anyone there. And I can't say that about a lot of people."

Something softened in his look. He took her hand in his and looked at her seriously. "Olivia, would you please just tell me. What did you see earlier, when you came over? I think I know, I'm not stupid, but I want to hear a straight answer from someone tonight. I even asked the cops if they really liked donuts and they just laughed at me." The cynicism and defeat in his words were heavy and his eyes pleaded with her. And she thought he probably did ask the cops that question.

She fought the war within herself, with Walter, who did not want his despicable actions to ever come out. But it was too late for naïve flights of fancy. Too late for Peter, who said he knew, too late for Olivia, too late in the grand scheme of things. Maybe it was better to hear it first from her. "You glimmer."

He blinked and she saw his jaw clench and unclench many times. As he processed it all.

"So does that mean what I think it means? That I'm from the other side?" He shook his head in disbelief. "What did Walter do? What did he do!?" he said in anger.

"Walter said you were sick. You wouldn't be here if he hadn't gone to get you."

"Maybe I'd been better off. Maybe we all would've been better off," he looked away from her.

"You can't think like that, you aren't responsible for any of this. Your father..."

He looked at her so severely that she stopped speaking. "If you think about it, that man is _not my father_! This door he opened up has _caused_ all of the things we've been frantically trying to mop up! He is directly responsible for all of it! And therefore, so am I." He erupted at her and scrubbed at his face, wincing as he forgot about the bruises. "I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you and I shouldn't take it out on you--"

"And you shouldn't take it out on yourself!"

"I'm a kid on a milk carton in another universe, which, in its ridiculousness, is a normal day in this reality," he laughed like a mad man, a crazed look in his eyes that reminded her of Walter so much it was scary. And for the first time, she considered whether hearing this type of news could drive a person insane.

He bent down and grabbed some toilet paper, wet it, and looked in the mirror to try and scrub some of the dried blood from his nose and lip.

"What did you mean when you said you went to a familiar place?"

"I ran into some people that, unfortunately for me, knew me from before. When I wasn't such an upstanding citizen. Small world, this one is, isn't it?" he tried to laugh at his own bad joke, the wild notes in his voice growing. And when Olivia didn't join in to have a good laugh with him, he scrubbed his face harder.

"It's late, you should try and get some sleep. I've got some blankets, you can stay here on the couch." Olivia touched his arm again lightly, if only to get him to stop scrubbing. The blood was mostly gone and his skin was getting redder by the moment. For reasons she couldn't fathom--probably the relief of knowing a wild and crazy Peter Bishop was not roaming the Boston streets itching for trouble--the idea of him sleeping here was comforting to her.

"Walter wanted me to call him if you showed up, but that can wait until morning. Astrid is there, I'll text her and let her know you're okay. Maybe Walter needs to worry just a little."

Peter only nodded, suddenly very tired of the world crashing against him and wanting to forget it all. Forget this night ever happened and that his head felt like a quantum tectonic event (a gold-plated Dr Walter Bishop garbage word, if he'd ever heard one) had taken place inside of it. If only he'd kissed Olivia, maybe that would've made him forget...

Olivia returned--he hadn't even seen her leave—with a pillow and some blankets and she led him out to the couch where she started tucking them in this way and that and arranging them into a cozy bed.

"Walter did tell me something tonight. He said you were sick and that you were taken away from him. And he was only taking what was his."

"It's why I never remembered being sick. Because _I _was never sick," he said quietly. "I was a perfectly healthy kid, it never happened to me. He has memories of me _that aren't me_." He grew agitated again and then the exhaustion crept back. "I don't want to think about it any more, my head is pounding." He sounded so lost that she didn't know what else to say. Maybe she shouldn't have told him that last part. She stood up and turned around to find that he had moved very close to her and she looked into his eyes.

And he was right there with her, studying her back, exhaustion etched all over his face. She studied him too, the cuts and bruises standing out more against his shimmering, shimmying unnatural glow. She wondered if it changed with his moods...

He leaned into her and she hoped maybe they were going to complete what had both been on their minds yesterday right before she had broken the spell.

And he kissed her deeply on the lips. And she savored the tenderness of it, felt his breath go in and out. Yes, he was real and here, on this side, and so was she. In the moment. Before everything spiraled out of control they would have this moment, together.

He broke away and spoke into her ear. "Thanks," he said, not his usual sarcastic self. "I've been wanting to do that all night."

She smiled up at him and did something very uncharacteristic for Olivia Dunham. She reached out and gave him a hug. He looked like he really needed it. He wrapped his arms around her and into her hair he murmured, "Thanks."

They broke apart finally and she rounded the corner of the hallway,"Good night, Peter," she called, taking one last look before shutting off the light.

"'Night," he answered back and started to pull off his shoes.

* * *

He kept falling asleep and waking himself up until finally, the sun started breaking through the windows. He hadn't wanted a nightmare here, at this moment, in Olivia's apartment, they were so close to the surface he could feel them brewing, and jerked himself awake once more. They were not nightmares, he now knew, but memories, trapped away and hidden out of sight. Walter's cure for them suddenly taking on a whole new meaning.

When he told Olivia he hadn't had a nightmare from the age of 8 to 19, that had been true. What he conveniently hadn't mentioned at the time was that they had come back with a vengeance after that. Most of the time he didn't remember any specifics, just one moment happiness, then confusion, then extreme terror and waking up.

It was the winter of his sophomore year, during finals. He'd been living in the dorms at college like any normal kid, drinking a little too much, writing term papers, studying for tests and stressed about a twenty page chem paper he was supposed to be writing, when he'd had a "major freak out" as his roommate liked to call it.

He'd woken up screaming one night, ran outside in the snow in just his pajamas and after waking half the campus, found himself surrounded and tackled by campus security. They'd referred him to the school psychologist for counseling. He went, but with Walter in St Claire's, he was doubly worried he would end up there, too, if he let them know too much about the inner workings of his mind. So he gave them all the answers they wanted to hear and they discharged him after a few sessions. And after that semester, he dropped out and never looked back...

Next thing he knew, he heard the teakettle in the kitchen whistle briefly and gingerly he got up. He turned on his phone and checked the time. It was 8:30. He was thankful to have gotten a little sleep.

"Morning," she told him as she poured the water from the kettle into her mug. "Would you like some tea? I have coffee, too. Sorry about the tea kettle."

He sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. "It's okay, Some tea would be good," he said.

She poured water into a second mug and added a tea bag. "Did you get any sleep?"

"No. Not really. Did you?"

"A little. Astrid was very glad to hear you were okay. But I think she thought maybe you were over here for...other reasons."

Peter smiled, "I would've hoped I was here for other reasons, too."

Olivia blushed and snuck a look at him and turned around to busy herself putting some toast in the toaster.

"Olivia, I'm sor-- I didn't mean-- I meant that with all that's gone on-- Well, you know what I meant. I'm just going to stop talking now."

"It's okay, Peter. I'd hoped it was for other reasons, too."

An awkward silence filled the kitchen. Peter wondered if Olivia really felt that way about him, he knew they were becoming closer, but she was so guarded with her feelings sometimes and so hard to read. And with everything blowing up in his face, he was not a perfect catch by any standard. But he'd still gotten that kiss from her in the end and it did make him forget some of it.

Olivia set the mug in front of him. "I'd like to come with you when you talk to Walter today." She paused to clarify, "That is, _if_ you are going to talk to Walter today."

"That's a big 'if'," he said simply. "At some point, I will have to go back, I can't leave Astrid babysitting forever," he said gripping the warmth of the tea and searching for answers at the bottom of the mug. "No matter what every cell in my body is telling me exactly what to do."

Olivia was happy inside her heart, in a place she hadn't used in awhile, to hear that his fight or flight instinct was telling him to fight.

At that moment, Peter's phone rang. He glanced down at the screen. It was Walter. "And so it begins," he mumbled to himself. Awake for five minutes and he was going to have deal with all of this. He hesitated in answering it and Olivia saw his hesitance.

"Just let it go to voice mail," she said.

He thought about it, but finally made up his mind and hit the answer button.

Gruffly, he answered, "What."


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

Peter looked at the phone. He heard Astrid's voice, and then a click, and then silence. And he couldn't believe it.

"Did Walter just hang up on you?" Olivia asked him.

Peter set the phone on the counter, disbelief written all over his face. He would have liked to chuck the phone against the opposite wall, imagined himself doing it, but it was really a nice phone and destroying it made no sense.

He got up, still not having said a word, grabbed his coat, and began putting on his shoes.

"Peter." Olivia said from over him. No response. "Peter."

"You know, this whole thing is really funny, Olivia. A laugh riot. I wish stuff like this happened all the time. Oh wait, it does." He stood up and the wild look was back. He might not have fled last night, but Olivia was seriously getting some major escape vibes from him right now.

His phone rang again and he headed to the door instead of the phone. "You deal with it. You sprung him from the crazy ward, you need him, he's your responsibility. I'm done. Send me the papers." Olivia grabbed the phone off the counter, answered it and stopped him at the door.

"Hello?" she grabbed Peter's jacket sleeve to hold him there.

"Olivia? It's Astrid."

"Hi, Astrid. Please tell me that was an accident?"

"Walter got a case of stage fright. He really wants to talk to Peter, in fact that's all he's been talking about all morning. Can you and Peter please come over?" Astrid's voice got quiet and she cupped the microphone, "I don't think I can handle him all by myself right now, either. He's a train wreck."

_If Train A is traveling north at 60 mph and Train B is traveling south at 50mph, when will the two trains collide?_ Olivia asked herself.

"That makes two. We'll be right over," she looked at Peter as she said it and hung up.

Peter was shaking his head, pulling out of her grip. "No, no, no. There is no 'we'. No way am I going over there. _He_ hung up on _me_."

She inserted herself between him and the door. _Last chance, Dunham_, she told herself. "He got scared, Peter. He wants to talk to you. Really."

"Please take me to my car, Olivia," he said, seething, not looking at her.

"Only after you talk to Walter. And it's technically not your car."

He glared at her, swallowed, and set his jaw. Choking down his pride, she thought to herself. He really did look extremely dangerous at the moment and maybe she shouldn't have pointed out that little fact about the car while her Glock sat on the nightstand all the way in her room...

"Fine."

* * *

The ride over was icy, at best. Neither dared say anything to upset the other. Peter stared out the side window, Olivia drove. The silence was so thick inside, the radio didn't even cut through it.

She briefly thought of engaging the child proof locks on the door so if he decided midway to bail out, he would be trapped. But that, she thought, might be going a bit too far.

Peter stewed about what was going to be said in just a few minutes time. Would he end up strangling his father or would they hug and be best buds forever? Neither was a likely outcome. He never liked having no options or only bad options and couldn't even remember a time when he had both. Any money he had (which wasn't much) was back at the house and his car _(which was not his car, thank you for pointing that out, Ms. Dunham_) might be a burnt out hulk or been sold for scrap by now.

And Olivia had a point, whether that was her intended point or not, when she told him it wasn't his car. He had no viable options for leaving, no money, no good friends to turn to, nobody in high places who owed him a favor. In fact _he_ _owed_ a lot of favors lately. Things had changed in his life, but not for the worse, he decided.

He'd kind of gotten used to being back here again in the city he swore he'd never come back to, with Walter, the man he swore he'd never see again. Solving crimes with two pretty girls and his barely legally sane father, Dr. Frankenstein--what more could a guy want?

And leaving was not going to change the fact that his life was a Scifi channel movie of the week or that he came from an alternate reality. An alternate reality that Walter always harped about needing to be in balance and with him here, it was definitely off balance. Maybe that explained a lot about what had gone wrong in his twenties...

Staying was likely the only way to get to the bottom of it all, to understand why, the universal why, the personal why. Even if he just wanted to chuck it all and start anew somewhere far, far away or not, he would still be left with a big fat 'why'.

* * *

They arrived twenty minutes later. Peter barely waited for the car to come to a complete stop and leapt out. He barreled through the front door, startling both Astrid and Walter who sat at the kitchen table.

Olivia came in a few seconds after him, clearly not enjoying having to play catch-up.

"Peter!" Walter stood up and came closer. "Son...what happened to you?" he said, concerned upon seeing Peter's battered face.

"It's nothing. Now let's get this over with."

"Maybe we should go in the other room," Walter suggested.

"Maybe I should go..." Astrid spoke up timidly.

"No, I want witnesses," Peter barked.

"Witnesses?!" Olivia barked back. She was glad she brought her gun.

"I want you both to know the truth, too. I want you to know exactly what kind of man you work with every day."

"A man who would do anything for his son!" Walter fought back.

"We all know he experimented on children," Peter laid it out. "A man who opened a door that should never have been opened! Was it worth it?! Was I worth it?"

"Yes! Yes, it was all worth it! To have my son back and healthy and my wife happy and the world right again..."

Peter looked at Olivia and Astrid, "This man has caused all of the chaos, destruction, and death we see everyday! So was it worth it, Walter?" he turned back to his father.

Astrid and Olivia both waited, not moving a muscle, caught in the middle of a storm neither very much wanted to be in. Walter wilted under his son's accusations.

"I suppose when you look at it that way, maybe it wasn't. But you were worth it and if I had a way to do it over again, I would." Walter looked at his feet, his chin quivering, trying to hold it all together. "But, but please Peter, don't get any more worked up, there's nothing you can do about it. We can go and talk about it. Maybe we could get some ice cream."

Peter froze. The ice cream. The ice cream...the fucking ice cream! Always going on and on about it! He was going to snap, he really was going to take the telephone cord and strangle this man right in front of two witnesses...

And then, everything stopped inside and outside of him. Time seemed to slow for him and he saw what he most surely did not think he would see.

"I've had this conversation before..." Peter looked down at his hands, turned them over, looked around the sparsely furnished living room. At Olivia and Astrid. And with super-heightened awareness, he realized how very rare it was for them to have a peaceful Saturday in the Fringe division. And here they were witnessing his disintegration into madness when they could be out shopping for shoes.

"I've said all this before."

Olivia and Astrid were frozen in place. Walter was frozen, his face registering a look of despair that Peter had never seen before. And then reality seemed to come back to speed.

"What do you mean, Peter?" Olivia asked, he was really starting to freak her out. She was worried that indeed he had snapped.

Walter just looked at his son, shaking fingers momentarily stilled.

"I had this conversation with Walter, but in the lab. The fire... The fire..." he looked around once more.

Olivia saw a look of shock come over his face and he left the room, slamming the door down the hall.

* * *

"Oh God," he whispered. When the door slammed shut, he sat down on the bed and grabbed his head. "Oh, God, no." He cried hot tears, relishing them stinging his cuts and scrapes.

It was all streaming back to him. He had said all this to his father once before, in the lab. And he fought with him, knocking him down, knocking over beakers and tubing, throwing books, a pig in a jar, his father's lunch, a package on the counter, anything not bolted down. Disgusted and angry at all he had learned.

He stormed out, his father following him, pleading with him not to go, not to believe his mother.

And then the lab assistant had come in ten minutes later to start her shift. And she simply flipped the light switch in the back room, like she did all the time. A noxious gas had been created by the mixture of chemicals spilled. With the old lights and faulty wiring, there was a short somewhere. The room ignited, sucking all the air out, suffocating her and creating a small explosion that rocked the building.

They both had heard it, two blocks away, where he and his father had stopped to argue some more. In that instant, as Walter turned towards the source of the explosion, Peter had walked away from Walter, shouting that he'd never talk to him again. He walked away from his father, not knowing. His father, who knew something was wrong, sprinted back to the lab.

Bell had been doing some experimental research on fuel cells at the university. A package, with chemicals for that research, sat on the counter, just couriered over, and thrown to the ground by Peter in his rage. The formaldehyde from the pig in the jar, broke next to that package. It created a highly unstable, volatile gas that when mixed together in the correct amounts, caused an explosion.

And then he remembered something else, something later. He'd gone to St Claire's months later and visited with his father--whom he hadn't seen since that day. His father who was so suddenly stark raving mad in the span of a few weeks. He told Walter he couldn't live with it any more, to take it away. Make it all go away. It was his fault that girl had died. He had been kidnapped from an alternate reality by his own father and he couldn't tell anyone any of this, that's why nothing ever made sense—why did his mother have to tell him?? Did she hate him that much? He asked his father to do something, anything, he just didn't want to think about it any more, wanted to pretend it never happened.

And of course, Walter knew exactly how to fix it.

* * *

Olivia walked directly to Walter and grabbed his shoulder.

"What is going on? There's something more, what is it?"

"I don't know!" he said. She looked into his eyes and he seemed to be telling the truth.

"He said he'd had this conversation before," Astrid said.

"And then something about the fire in your lab. And then he left," Olivia countered.

"The fire in my lab..." Walter said to himself. "I don't really remember it all, everything sort of got hazy around that time."

"I'm sorry to have to ask you this Walter, but your lab assistant that was killed. How did she die?" Olivia asked him patiently, kind of like how she might interrogate a child.

"She died in a fire," Walter said. "A fire... no, it was actually a small explosion, a very unlucky discovery. But most discoveries are all about luck," he added. "Bellie and I were able to recreate what had happened. A certain mixture of chemicals had caused it. It was really a very unfortunate set of circumstances," he shook his head. "I don't remember anything else."

"Well, great, that doesn't help us at all," she said throwing up her hands in frustration.

She headed down the hallway to Peter's room and knocked.

"Come in," he said quietly. He looked up at her as she entered, hastily wiping his eyes.

"I remembered--" he stood up before her and he shut the door behind her. The wild look was back. "I remembered being _so_ angry at him, just like before. And then it was deja vu. I remembered being at Walter's lab yelling and screaming about the same things. The same things..."

"What are you talking about?" Olivia was totally confused now. "When did you have this conversation before?"

"Years ago... I knew about this years ago. I confronted him after my mother told me before she scattered to the wind. Told me that she had no idea who I was and that I'd come from a door to another universe and that I—the other I—this I--had gotten sick and died. The fire happened that day... And I did something crazy to forget it."

"What do you mean crazy?" Olivia knew what Walter's kind of crazy was like, so she could imagine.

"A drug-fueled, post-hypnotic suggestion led by Walter over the telephone while he was freshly instituted in St. Claire's. And I was his more-than-willing guinea pig. I made him do it. 'Ice cream' was the reinforcement word from when I was a child that made it all go away, so he used it again. And every time I hear the word, it all goes a little farther away--'I will not remember, I will not remember.' The same technique he used to help me forget after he took me from the other side. Minus the drugs, I'm hoping." He looked over at her. He barely believed it and he was the one spouting it. And he looked and sounded so excited...

Olivia sat there, stunned. It was frankly, a little more than she could take in.

"So how old were you at this point?" she was afraid to know.

"I must've been thirteen. Or fourteen, maybe," he said. "It's all a little hazy." She didn't fail to notice that he used the same words as Walter.

"How did you suddenly remember all of this?"

"I heard 'ice cream'. And I guess I didn't want to hear it any more," he chuckled.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Olivia sat on the edge of the only other piece of furniture in the room, a tattered black chair.

"So, do you think Walter has been using--that word—intentionally? To make you forget?"

Peter paced, in circles, "I—I don't know. I don't think so, but everything is so backwards, I can't tell any more. Maybe."

He had seemed so very sure about everything just a few moments ago and she had been caught up in the moment, too. But something bothered Olivia and she was about to lay it out for him.

"You said you visited your father at St. Claire's, are you _sure_ of that?"

"Yes, yes, I'm pretty sure. I swear it was St. Claire's. No, wait... I remember being older, then..." He stopped his frenetic pacing to peer down at her.

"I have all of the records from when your father was in St. Claire's and you were never listed as a visitor, there were only doctors on the list. I combed through them myself and had Astrid scan them all for Walter's FBI file."

"Then, I have no fuckin' idea what's going on."" he shook his head and resumed his pacing.

But what she had just said sparked his interest. He needed rock-solid proof, anything—dates, facts, addresses. And if it proved he was crazy, so be it. But he needed the proof. _If only for peace of mind of my own craziness,_ he laughed to himself. "Do _I_ have an FBI file?" he asked her.

"Yes, you do. I had to do some research to track you down," she said cryptically.

"Humor me, but could I look at that file? And the visitor logs?"

"Do you have a computer here?"

"I do."

He pulled out his laptop from a bag and turned it on for her.

"What's Walter doing?" he asked, sitting down, but restless.

"I don't know, he was sitting in the kitchen a few minutes ago."

Distracted, he waited for it to boot up, he typed in his password and handed it over to her. "I'm going to go check on him."

"Ok," she stared at his back as he left the room. She would have to keep one ear open...

* * *

He saw his father still seated at the kitchen table, but with an open bottle of beer in front of him, staring at his hands. Was it wrong to feel sorry for the things he'd said earlier? He realized the man in front of him was not the same man he knew from before. Did he even really _know_ this man before?

"When did you start drinking?" Peter asked as he came into the kitchen.

"Today seemed as good as any," Walter smiled, snatching sidelong glances at his son.

Peter opened the refrigerator and took out his own beer. He pulled out the other chair and sat down, stared at his hands, not sure how to begin or where. He hoped Walter would. He was much too tired to think. He opened the beer and swallowed and it hit his stomach hard.

"What happened to you?" Walter asked.

"I got into an altercation."

"With Agent Dunham?"

Peter smiled, a funny picture entered his head of Olivia kicking his ass. "No, not with Olivia. Some old friends wanted to say hi."

"I hope you're not friends with them any more."

Peter laughed. "No, I'm not."

"I suppose you would like me to explain everything to you."

"Just the important parts," Peter said.

"I was hoping I would never have to. But I know that was silly of me. It would have to come out sooner or later. I don't remember everything though..."

"I'll try to help. Did I ever visit you at St. Claire's?" Peter took a drink of his beer.

"No, I never got a single visitor. Not even your mother."

Peter placed his beer on the table and leaned over towards Walter, "I've got this funny idea in my head that we argued about this before. Like in the lab. And that _I_ caused the fire there. Does any of this ring a bell?"

"No, it doesn't," Walter replied.

"How did your lab fire start?"

"We were all working on something, I mean, Me, Bellie, and Annie, the lab assistant... What it was, I can't recall, though. I remember I stepped out for a moment and when I came back, something terrible had happened... Why? Why is this important now?"

"Because I was there."

"But you weren't!"

"Right, I left, but I had been there. We argued. I trashed the place. I caused the explosion."

"No, that's not how it happened at all!"

"You just said you didn't remember. Are you sure, Walter?"

"Yes, yes I'm fairly certain. Don't you think I would remember my own son causing something like that?!"

"I don't know any more, Walter," Peter said, staring down at the floor, the only thing he could feel was real at that very moment. "So how come I remember arguing with you? I had this...shift. It was like deja vu, everything froze, and then I saw these things."

"Hmm."

"I also have another memory. One that I can't explain. Olivia said you never had any visitors at St Claire's, but I remember going to visit you. I was maybe fourteen...or maybe older... I asked you to make me forget. You told me what kinds of drugs to take and how to set it up. Then you hypnotized me, or did something, over the phone. But 'ice cream' was the trigger word..."

"Yes, yes. Ice cream! I love ice cream! Now I remember, I did hypnotize you! But only after I first brought you over here...to this side. And I don't think there were any drugs involved. For you, anyways," he chuckled to himself. "You had been having nightmares and I gave you a post-hypnotic suggestion. We went for ice cream every weekend and it worked!"

"Yeah, sure, it worked. So you're saying it happened one way and I'm saying it happened another way. Who's right? If you are, where am I getting this stuff from?" he looked expectantly at Walter because in the end, Walter always had the answers he needed. _They_ needed.

Suddenly, Walter stood up, lunged forward and grabbed Peter's head, startling him, "Hey!" Peter shouted as Walter forced open his right eye. Peter stood up abruptly to try and get away, "Hey!" His chair banged against the ground. "Ow! Walter, what are you doing!"

"Hold still! Just let me look at your eyes," he barked.

"You could give a guy some warning first!" Peter did not look happy, but did as he was told.

Walter did the same to his left eye, observing the reactions, thinking.

Olivia sprinted into the room at the sound of the commotion.

"What's going on?" she spoke. Peter looked at her sideways, still in Walter's vice-like grip. _At least she didn't come in shooting_, he thought to himself.

"It could be any number of possibilities, son, I don't want to speculate..." Walter grabbed his right eye again.

Peter pulled out of his father's iron grip with an angry jerk. Gave Olivia another look and looked back at Walter.

"Try. Give me the top five."

"You could be experiencing hallucinations..."

"Great..."

"You could have someone else's brain implanted in you..." Walter chuckled without humor.

"Oh, even better."

"Someone could have given you false memories--Bellie and I worked on that, as well, for the government--"

"Conspiracy theorists are rejoicing. Go on."

"But I think I know what is happening to you."

"Please, enlighten us, Walter," Peter glanced at Olivia, who was still standing there, ready to intervene if necessary.

Walter also finally glanced at Olivia standing a few feet away, as if seeing her there for the first time. He folded his hands in front of him.

"Every time a person crosses through the door--I only found this out afterwards--there are consequences. The mind is never the same. New connections are made, but some are severed. Permanently."

"Permanently... Is that how you ended up in St. Claire's?"

"Yes, ultimately," Walter said sadly. "And the effects are more pronounced in times of highly emotional responses. So when you introduce a flood of hormones, or endorphins, or chemicals... It kind of short circuits the mind for a period."

"Yes, that's exactly what it felt like. And then I got flashes of things, but all jumbled up. Not making sense. Real, but not real."

"Yes. Like a smear!" he waved his arm in front of him. "That's what I called it!" He looked downright giddy for a second, but his mood changed. "Yes, that's how it all starts..." he said worriedly.

"How many times did I go through the door?" Peter asked.

"Only once."

"Fantastic. Walter, how many times did _you_ go through the door?"

"I—I lost count."


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

"Great Walter, just great." Peter righted the overturned chair and sat down again. Today, for the second time in a row, was not going the way he had pictured it. His night with Olivia had turned sour, he had gotten his ass royally kicked, and he just found out he was probably crazy, thanks to dear old dad. And it was only... he looked at the microwave...a little after ten in the morning.

He also hadn't even gotten the straight answer he wanted from Walter. Just one kernel, one atom, of truth was all he wanted. But all the fight was gone out of him. He was just going to lay his head here on the table for a moment. If time could slow down, maybe it could also speed up...

And then he heard Olivia's voice and he smiled just a bit into the crook of his arm. She was right there in the ring with him. _Tag, you're it, Olivia._

"Walter, what were the circumstances that made you bring Peter over to this side?"

Her tone was all official business and he could see her typing up her report now, could see the title on it--'The Kidnapping of Peter Bishop: Case Zero Involving The Pattern.' And she was talking about him like he wasn't here. And maybe he wasn't. 'Here' had become a subjective term in the last 12 hours.

"Peter, do you remember when we fell through the ice?" Peter shrugged, but didn't answer, so Walter continued. "That was the night I came for you, on the other side. I never meant to take you away, but it was fate and ill-luck. And when we got to my lab and I saw your mother's face when she walked in on me and she saw you lying there, I couldn't take you back..."

Peter tried to think about that night, vaguely remembering the cold and a car ride, but not much else. But he was too tired to think, too nauseous, too seasick from this sinking ship. All he wanted was a nap. Yes, a nap on the deck of the Titanic sounded very nice right about now...

So he stood up before Walter could continue.

"I think I know all that I want to know," he tried to hold back the dark laughter that seemed to bubble up in him. "I was kidnapped by my father, who incidentally is not my real father, and taken to another universe. That's it. In a nutshell." he said, looking at both of them, Walter most of all, who wore a hurt expression.

"What's done is done and I'm _really_ tired." And he stalked off to his room.

* * *

And just like that, he was gone. Olivia stared at Walter, staring at his son. She wanted to go to Peter and tell him everything would be all right. But then, she didn't know if everything would be all right.

Maybe it was a good thing Peter left and she was the one to hear the full story from Walter. With the volatile nature of their relationship and Peter's mood, things could quickly go from bad to worse to... much, much worse (which seemed to be the level it was at right now, judging from the look on Walter's face). She could relay the highlights or the full, gory story (or nothing at all, if that's what he wanted) when he was ready to hear it.

She didn't see his exit as leaving her stranded to do his dirty work. She was also a part of this, an unwilling participant much like Peter and a slew of other unlucky souls. She wanted answers and was done waiting.

"What did he mean? I _am_ his father," Walter spoke.

"It's a lot to handle. You've got to give him some time, Walter."

And Walter nodded, reluctantly trying to understand his wayward son who appeared to be teetering backwards on a ledge. It reminded him of himself so many years ago and that frightened him. But he had a tale to tell and it seemed to come out a bit easier in Olivia's presence.

"He was very sick as a child, Olivia, that much you do know. What you don't know is that my Peter, the Peter from _this_ world, died in my arms. I had been trying to come up with a cure. And so was Walternate. I failed, but he did not..."

"_Walternate_?"

* * *

Peter fell face first across his bed, wincing slightly as a bed spring poked his sore ribs. He could hear the droning of Walter's voice, but not the words. He also heard the negative spaces in the conversation, which must be Olivia asking her questions...

_Or recoiling in horror,_ he mused.

What saddened him most was that this little bit of news was going to change everything--this little house they'd found, the halfway normal life they had been leading, a father and son getting to know each other again, getting to trust each other again—everything was going to change. They were no longer just innocent consultants on an enigmatic series of events, his father was the cause. Olivia would have to tell Broyles and Broyles would have his father locked up for good.

_His_ fate was not so clear. He might still have the chance to work alongside Olivia, but he was too close. They would probably take him off the cases as well. No paycheck, no more legitimate status, which, despite all of his cons and fraudulent endeavors, was something he'd secretly longed for his whole life, he'd just gone about it different;y than most. And in the end, like it always seemed to happen in his life, it would all fall apart.

And even though his thoughts were uneasy, exhaustion was a bitch. And he was lulled to sleep by his father's baritone voice reverberating through the wall...

* * *

Walter went on to describe the window he had made, the cure that Walternate had missed due to the bald man, and the night he crossed over to save Peter.

"I never meant to take him in the first place, I had the cure. I was going to give it to him there, on his own side. But his mother saw him and I couldn't bear to take him away from her again. From us."

Olivia wanted to understand, but it was all a bit beyond her realm of comprehension. If Peter was not here, a living and breathing glimmering person, she would think this man in front of her was madder than the hatter.

And that's probably what landed him a first-class ticket to the insane asylum. That, and the fire that killed his lab assistant years later. The lab assistant who had strongly objected to Walter's meddling around in the universes...(she tucked that line of questioning away in her mental notes).

Holding his dead son in his arms, only to later pluck a living version of his son out from another dimension. It was craziness, pure craziness.

"So Walter, how is it that Peter doesn't remember any of this?" she said even more serious, as these were serious questions. "He doesn't remember walking through a portal in the middle of a frozen lake and he doesn't remember being sick, as far as I know. And you yourself just said you worked on government funded experiments involving implanting false memories. You also have a history of experimenting on children, including Peter. He told me once that you hooked him up to a car battery," she could barely hide the disgust in her voice. "I didn't believe him at the time, I thought he was being flippant, but now... What is the truth, Walter?"

"The truth will kill us all, Agent Dunham."

* * *

He awoke slowly and the dying shreds of his dreams faded away into nothingness. The dim light coming through the window momentarily confused him. Was it morning? He was still face down, but someone had draped a blanket over him. He heard the gentle tap, tap of fingers on keys. He pushed himself up and turned around. The typing stopped.

Olivia sat there in the tattered chair, her face, her blonde hair, glowing in the light from the laptop. She was looking at him with that little smile he'd kind of grown to like. He started to smile back and then stopped as he remembered why she was here tap tapping away at her keyboard...

"Hey, 'Livia" he said, groggy. He turned around and sat up clutching the blanket around him, his mind still fuzzy.

"Morning," she said.

"Is it?" he said surprised.

"No, it's only six. At night."

"Oh."

"I hope you don't mind me being in here. I was just typing up some notes."

"No. I don't mind at all." What he minded was her being so far away and that she was typing up his pink slip.

They stared at each other for a moment. "You don't glimmer when you sleep," she told him.

"I wonder why." He didn't really want to know, only humored her.

"Maybe you're able to go back in your dreams, to your universe." She made it sound so normal...

"This is my universe. Just a slightly different version."

"Touche," she smiled.

"Did Walter behave?"

"Yes. He wanted to go for a walk about an hour ago and I let him. I hope that was okay."

He shrugged. "He's your responsibility now."

"You're giving up, just like that?"

"Remember when I told you to be careful what you wished for? This is what I was talking about."

"I know that finding out these things has been hard on you--" Olivia started.

"You can't even begin to know," he sneered.

She glared at him with anger. _Did he really think that?!_ At that moment, she wanted to scream at him and shake him. _I do know!_ she shouted at him in her brain. She took a slow, deep calming breath.

And she spoke slowly, deliberately, angrily. "I don't want to argue with you, Peter, but I think you are forgetting that your father also experimented on me as a child, so do not tell _me_ that I can't know what you're going through."

He got a pained expression on his face. He had definitely struck a nerve within her and had known it before she'd even opened her mouth. He was being such an ass today, everything he said was wrong. "I'm sorry. I truly didn't mean that. You---are the _only_ one who knows what I'm going through."

"Thank you." She had to psych herself up for what she was about to say next. "I—I've been writing some notes for the last hour or so trying to comprehend what your father told me and what I know of the Pattern. Peter, there is so much more going on here than we realize."

"You mean there's more to it than just killer kids and mutated genes? Now I'm really scared."

She leaned towards him and lowered her voice, looking around suspiciously, her paranoia was ratcheting skyward by the second. "From what your father told me, I am beginning to believe I was specifically fed information that would lead me to bring your father into these investigations."

He leaned towards her, wide awake, now. "Go on."

"Massive Dynamic has been all too eager to help us, even when most of their technology has been directly responsible for the terror we have witnessed. And nobody in the law can touch them. William Bell, and your father, had their hands in the government till and I don't trust that Massive Dynamic is simply helping us for the good of man-kind or that the government is completely oblivious. Did you know that Walter knew Nina Sharp before you were ever born? In fact, they were very close friends."

"How do you know?"

Olivia paused and wondered if she should tell him. "She attended your funeral here, on this side."

He was never going to get used to hearing shit like that. Never. "She looked familiar to me, but I couldn't place her. But how do you go from that to a giant conspiracy to get Walter out of the institution?"

"There are too many coincidences for me to believe they were random. Top secret government work that I was able to connect to _your_ father. The information I received to track you down in Iraq. And all it took to get Walter, a man convicted of manslaughter, out of a mental institution was your signature? I don't buy it any more."

"So we were needed in some way. The Pattern involves Walter, you, and I, in some way shape or form. And we've all been brought together to solve it."

"Or to move it along," she whispered more to herself, but Peter heard it loud and clear in the heavy silence of the room. She shook her head, "I don't think I can go to Broyles with any of this. If we have any chance of understanding what is happening or about to happen, we're going to need your father, and his memories and whatever else is still up there, more than ever. Somebody knows this. But we know it, too."

He seemed to come alive just a little, "We'll just need to be one step ahead of them."

"Are you going to be with me on this, Peter?" she asked him, point blank. "Because if all of this is true, I don't think I can do this alone."

He looked down and picked at the blanket, relief all over his face. "I thought for sure you were going to go to Broyles with all of this. I could see him locking Walter up and throwing away the key and I don't know where I saw myself, but it wasn't here."

He looked up into Olivia's worried eyes, "I need to know what's happening, too. We're all a part of this. And I promise you, Olivia, I won't let you go it alone. I promise."

* * *

_me: I don't know what the etiquette is, but I made some very slight changes to previous chapters. You don't have to go back and re-read them though :)_


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

They sat together in the gathering gloom of Peter's sparse room, a companionable silence between them as the sun started its rapid descent below the horizon. They had gotten that whole leaving issue settled. He'd been angry earlier, a bit irrational he admitted, but with fair reason. He hadn't really wanted to leave, probably would've walked around until he could think straight again. Probably another round of drinks before the night was through. If he wasn't careful, he'd slip back into old habits...

But now he had something else he wanted to discuss with her. Something his subconscious had obviously worked on while he was sleeping. He hadn't wanted to keep it from her, but he'd needed time to work on it, think about it. And cases compounded and weeks turned into months and he'd come to fully understand what it was he had only started on out of boredom. So before any more easy excuses popped into his head, he needed to tell her right now. He was too preoccupied to notice that Olivia, too, was weighing the pros and cons of something.

"Olivia..." he started.

"Peter--" she started.

He laughed nervously and she smiled back, "You first."

The sun had really gone down and he couldn't see her very much any more, so he leaned over and switched on his bedside lamp.

And then his stomach growled very loudly. He gave a little laugh. Was this his autonomic system's last ditch way of saying he should just shut the hell up? Maybe.

"When was the last time you ate?" Olivia asked him.

"Uh, dinner, last night. And I'm starving. And you?" he said eagerly, although he didn't feel that hungry.

"A half-hearted attempt at breakfast," she pointedly looked at him. "Can we maybe continue this conversation later? Let's go get something to eat," Olivia told him. She stood up and shut the laptop. She smoothed out her jacket, which she had slung over the back of the chair, and pulled it on. Her news could wait a little longer. Definitely could.

But could his?

"Yeah sure, let's get something. It can wait. I'm up for anything edible. But you'll have to drive." He had gotten a momentary reprieve, but the waiting was still going to slowly kill him. "And we'll have to take Walter."

"Do you promise to behave?" she asked him.

He smiled and a little of it even managed to reach his eyes. "Yes, but does he?"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Peter and Olivia were driving around darkened streets, the only illumination in the car was the small screen of Walter's tracking remote. And a steady, slow beeping.

"Where could he be?" Olivia asked again. For the tenth time.

"We'll find out soon enough," Peter said and took a deep breath out of frustration.

She was worried. She hadn't even considered that maybe Walter would be the one to run. "I'm sorry, Peter, I shouldn't have let him leave."

"He's a big boy, hopefully he just went somewhere familiar, you know, cleaning cages or tutoring the janitors," Peter answered out loud. _Hopefully... _he thought to himself. "We _are_ headed in the general direction of the lab."

He looked over at Olivia, focused on driving. This was so very normal, _his_ version of normal, and he relished that feeling. Not that he wanted a girl driving him around constantly, but she wasn't any girl. She was a girl with a badge and a gun. Very sexy, he admitted, as long as it wasn't pointed at him. But he really would have missed this if he'd split. Like he'd split so many times before when the going got rough—his mom, his crazy father, his unpaid debts, his uncanny knack of finding trouble wherever he went... But that was the old Peter. This was as rough as it got, and if he could hang around through this, maybe he really was a changed person. But having a friend like Olivia, and knowing he wasn't alone (and she might one day, if he played his cards right, be _more_ than a friend), made the decision a lot easier.

The beeping was picking up a little and he glanced at the featureless black box and its flashing lights. "Ah, turn right, I think. You know, why couldn't Walter make this remote a little more informative?" He looked over at her again and felt a good Walter-rant coming on. So he tried to lighten the mood.

"GPS would have been a great thing to include. But no, all we get is this beep, beep, beep, like we're in a bad Hardy Boys novel. Or Johnny Quest made this thing for his third grade science project. Electronics were never Walter's thing..." His last words died on his lips. Everything from this point on was going to be said or thought of with an asterisk next to it in his mind--*_may or may not be true._

"I think I'll work on it Monday," he finished, glancing down at the box in his hand again, lost in thought. Maybe the flashing lights would guide him to more than just a wayward Walter.

"Your father developed a machine to cross into another universe. So, I think his knowledge of electronics was pretty good," Olivia joked back at him. But when he didn't answer, she looked over at him. She could tell he wasn't in the mood any more, she'd hit a nerve. Stuck her big foot in her mouth, more precisely. Evidently it was a_ little too soon_ to joke about it. And they fell into an awkward silence.

She cut right to the heart of what he was thinking. He had heard her last statement loud and clear on all levels. Who was he to belittle his father's electronics capabilities? He was a college dropout, a glorified babysitter-slash-lab assistant (-slash-lab rat) with nothing to his name. Reduced to belittling a man who had dared to think and achieve the impossible about his lack of electronics knowledge. _Were those hints of jealousy, Peter Bishop?_

"What is it you wanted to say earlier, Peter?"

"Oh, It's nothing," he said from far away.

"Are you sure? Because it didn't seem like nothing."

"What did _you_ want to say?" he threw back at her.

"It's nothing."

"It's something."

"Right back at you." She held his gaze, what little of it she could see.

He looked away and silence reigned again, only more tense. How did they go from comfortable to tense silences in the span of less than an hour, Peter wondered.

A deep breath--"I've been kind of working on something."

"What kind of something?" she said cautiously and glanced over at him. He was looking straight ahead. She had noticed the lab smelled of solder lately, over the usual mixture of chemicals and bizarre foods.

"I found some schematics. Needless to say, what they make doesn't work. Can't work."

"What do they make?"

He sighed. "I'm not sure."

The Bishops were a little too similar at times, Olivia decided. And too smart to just _not know _things. And they always wanted to hide behind this defense of not knowing, when they knew perfectly well.

And it pissed her off to no end.

"Where did you find these schematics?" she tried to coax a little more out of him.

The beeping sped up again. "Turn left here. Yep, he headed to campus," Peter trailed off. But he didn't answer her question right away, maybe if he didn't answer her she would forget all about it.

Ha, not a chance.

"I found some schematics in some of Walter's books years ago, before I sold them. They were interesting, so I kept them."

She waited for him to go on, but he didn't.

"And?" Was he deliberately testing her patience?

He thought maybe he'd already said too much, so why not say some more? "And I can see why we're in a shit storm of trouble."

She let that sink in and they drove the rest of the way in silence punctuated only by the beeping and Peter's directions. A few minutes later they arrived at the campus library's parking lot and saw Walter sitting on the steps outside of the darkened library.

* * *

Their sullen presence in the off-campus pizza joint, on a Saturday night no less, was the picture of opposites. They quietly occupied a booth in the corner, while all around them pitchers of beer were disappearing as fast as the volume level was increasing. Peter had chosen it because it was close and most importantly, loud. There would be no more deep conversations tonight if he could help it; the consumption of food was his number one priority.

His mood dissipated a little further, though, as Walter attempted to talk to him from the backseat after they scooped him up from the library steps. He wasn't in the mood for small talk with Walter. Not now, maybe not ever again.

"Peter, when did they start closing the library at six o'clock? Six o'clock! How do the students get their homework or research done?"

"It's Saturday, Walter."

"Oh. Oh, I forgot. No wonder the librarian was very cross at me."

A few moments later he added, "I was trying to do some research of my own before they kicked me out. Research into what you might be experiencing. There have been many interesting findings in neurology over the last eighteen years that I need to catch up on." It was almost an apology for wandering so far away.

Peter grunted.

And the neon sign of the pizza parlor shined like a beacon in the night to him.

"Pull over, we're eating here," he pointed it out to Olivia who turned into the parking lot.

Peter hadn't accounted for speed in his dinner equation and the wait for their extra large supreme pizza and breadsticks was about to do him in.

"Peter!" Walter exclaimed, again, over the noisy crowd around them.

"What, Walter? What do you want?" he finally gave in with an angry edge to his voice. Olivia sat next to him on the wooden bench and he felt something tug at his side. She had pulled on his shirt. _Behave_, he could hear her saying in his brain.

"Thank you, son, for looking for me. For finding me." Walter started, his voice trying to remain low.

"You're welcome, Walter," he said in a sarcastic tone.

"I know I'm a sad, old man. And the things I've done... and the years we were apart... I can't possibly make up for them. But I think we're on our way. I'm just..._so_ _glad_...you're still here." He smiled up at Peter who was watching him.

He knew Walter wasn't just talking about finding him tonight on the library steps. He was thanking him for pulling him out of St. Claires, for getting him out into the world again, practicing science, for trusting him when he had no reason to. Thanking him for the chance to right the wrongs of his past. At least, this is what Peter saw in Walter's eyes when he looked into them.

Peter felt emotions rise up in him so quickly that he almost couldn't hold them in, but they were all fighting and canceling each other out—anger, sadness, bitterness, hatred, love. The rowdiness of the crowd faded away down to a pinprick. His father had only done these things because he loved him. His father only upset the laws of nature because he loved him... Put any other statement in there and it would be a great sentiment, Hallmark worthy even. Walter had done so many wrongs in the name of love. And where did it get him? Seventeen years of forced isolation and Peter bouncing around because he didn't _fit in_ any where. Little did he know...

Peter placed his hand on the booth beside him, hoping to brush against the hand that had moments ago tugged at his shirt, but it wasn't there any more. He wanted to feel that connection to Olivia, maybe just to ground him and he glanced over at her. He was not the rock, she was. She was there with him, for him, when she didn't even need to be. She could have and should have gone home hours ago and left him to deal with it all. He was just an iceberg adrift in the sea, Walter his only broken, frayed tether.

What kind of fate had brought them all together to fight this battle? He looked over at Olivia quickly, then looked away, suddenly afraid of what the future was going to bring for all of them. He was usually not one to be afraid, but at that moment, he was. He hadn't felt it until then, it had been eclipsed by a thousand other things, but now he felt it. The world crumbling, drunk college students partying like there's no tomorrow, his life marginally back on track and a coming inter-dimensional storm. It was a little consolation to realize he had probably the two best people he could have in his corner--Olivia and Walter. _Oh, _d_ear God..._

And as if she heard his thoughts or sensed his unease, Olivia caught his eyes and placed her hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze. And he gave her the best smile he could muster at that moment. He had royally pissed her off earlier, he knew, by just not answering her. But, God, he wanted to kiss her right now and he held back. He was forever holding back.

Walter smiled too and did a quick little jig in the booth across from them, which of course they didn't see, too wrapped in their own thoughts. He had definitely noticed the way Peter and Olivia looked at each other and did another little dance in his head for good measure. A silver lining to all of this, he hoped.

The food arrived and they ate like it was their last meal.

* * *

As uneasy as she felt about it, Olivia dropped Walter and Peter off at their house after extracting promises from each of them not to kill each other or do anything equally drastic without informing her first.

She was exhausted, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

But, she still had just enough energy left to check her email.

She'd emailed Astrid earlier and asked her to send her the scanned copies of the visitor logs from Walter's stint at St. Claires. She needed to double check something for her own sanity. Had been about to tell Peter her hunch, without double-checking for sure. Good thing they were interrupted. Because what little he ended up telling her, was a lot troubling. What exactly was he working on?

She booted up her computer and faithfully, Astrid had sent along the files with a quick note:

_ Olivia, I hope everything is going as well as can be, files are attached. Please keep Walter and Peter in line. Sorry to skip out on you like that, had a birthday party to attend and gifts to buy. Call if you need anything._

_ Astrid_

Olivia clicked open the PDFs. She was hesitant, almost didn't want to. If what she suspected was in here, how could that change things? Was she an investigator first or Peter's friend? He had always maintained that he never visited Walter at the institution and records proved that. On the surface. But earlier that day he told her that he _had_ visited Walter in St. Claire's, but as a teenager, and then recanted that. She could have recited the list of doctors from memory and knew his name was not on the list.

As she already knew, Walter had visits from six different doctors during his time at St. Claire's. But one name stood out now that she looked at it from a different perspective, from the perspective of the impossible, as Walter would probably say. Five of the doctors made multiple visits over the course of seventeen years. But one doctor made only one visit, Dr. Knight, a psychologist, in 2000. No first name, no other information. A scrawled signature and approval from the duty nurse was all that she had to go on.

She clicked open Peter's file, which included a list of known aliases (of which he had quite a few). She was quite sure what she would find.

Knight was one of his aliases.

She sat back, letting that sink in. Her exhaustion forgotten.

* * *

Peter tossed and turned all night, but just couldn't fall sleep. Walter had drifted off to bed finally after roaming the old house, his footsteps creaking along the wood floors letting Peter know he was still up and anxiously pacing around doing whatever he was doing. Peter didn't care so long as he didn't knock on his door and bother him.

They hadn't talked after Olivia dropped them off, Peter just grabbed a beer, said goodnight, and went to his room. He was going to listen to music and pray that it lulled him into a dreamless sleep, but it wasn't working. He was too wound up.

So he laid there thinking. He had to call Olivia.

He rolled over, grabbed his phone, and dialed her number.

"Dunham." she answered, even though she knew it was him from the caller ID.

"We still have to finish that conversation from earlier," he said.

"Yes, Peter, we do."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, I was just lying here thinking."

"Funny, so was I." Another awkward silence. They were becoming too common. "Look, why don't we finish our conversation in the lab tomorrow. Ten o'clock? I think if I show you, you'll understand better."

What was he building that was so beyond her comprehension he felt she had to see it to understand? The suspense was not going to help her get any sleep.

"Fine, I'll be there."

* * *

_me: Wow, the last Fringe episode, White Tulip, rocked but I seriously can't wait until next Thursday! Thanks for reading if you still are, I think i'm back on track..._


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8

He finally managed to sleep in fits and starts, wound too tightly, checking the clock every hour it seemed.

He woke up as the sun was hitting his window and glanced at the clock, 7:33. Seemed like a good time to get up and running. He wanted to get there early and try to get things set up before Olivia came in. Before Walter woke up and asked about his plans for the day. Or asked about anything else.

He showered and dressed. Ran his hand through the stubble and looked at himself in the mirror. Pondered shaving, but it was Sunday and he liked his four-day-old stubble enough to keep it one more day.

He was brushing his teeth when he remembered--

"Damn!" he said with a mouthful of toothpaste. The car!

He pounded his fist on the sink and continued brushing. He could call Olivia and ask her to give him a ride, but that was not an option. He wanted it all set up and ready to go when she got there. He would just have to walk to campus, it wouldn't take that long. He was going to have to get the damn car back today, whether he liked the old piece of junk or not.

He walked downstairs and scrawled a note on the back of an envelope--

Be back in a few hours.

Peter

Aw, how sweet of him to leave a note, he thought to himself sarcastically. Maybe his father would eventually get the hint.

* * *

Olivia promptly arrived at the lab at ten. She let herself in, but didn't see Peter anywhere.

"Back here," he came out of one of the back offices. She followed him.

"So. What is it I'm supposed to look at?" Obviously she was not as excited to be here as he was.

"Good morning, to you, too," he smiled and sat on the edge of the desk. "This," he pointed to a wooden box on the desk with dials on the top, "is what we, in the scientific world, call a gadget. A gizmo. A whatchamacallit. Anyways, I don't know what it's called. But from what I know from building it, it appears to emit a high pitched sound of varying frequencies."

"Why?" she crossed her arms in front of her.

"I don't know why. There's no explanation for it. Nothing. But when I turn it on, Gene moos like crazy. And I wanted to show you something. We've seen something similar to this before."

"So Gene goes crazy?"

"Yes, she moos like I've never heard before. And it does something else, do you want to see?" he was very excited and barely holding it in.

She wasn't sure. "Is it safe?"

"I'm still here," he joked. "I've only turned it on a couple of times, it runs the batteries down pretty fast. But I bought a fresh batch just for today," he held up a heavy looking bag that looked full of big camping batteries. "I modified it a little, the type of battery it called for doesn't exist any more. But I was able to cobble something together."

"And where did you find these schematics?"

"In the margins of one of Walter's books." He picked up a slim, frayed blue hardbound book from the desk. "One of the ones I didn't sell. Well, couldn't sell, because nobody wanted it. It was in pencil and it was a little faded but I scanned it and cleaned it up." He opened it, took out a bunch of well-worn computer paper he'd obviously been using as a bookmark and handed it to her. She held the page and looked at the cover and the spine. It was a child's science book from the 50s or 60's--'Children's Adventures in Science'.

She studied the faded sketches that took up two pages in the section on fungi. How appropriate. "How long have you been working on this?"

"Technically? Eight years. But I only started piecing it together about a year ago. Some of the guts were very hard to find."

"What does Walter say about it?"

He got a funny look on his face. "Walter doesn't know. And I'd prefer to keep it that way. I've been coming here on my downtime and working on it."

"Why don't you want Walter to see it? He was the one that sketched it out, right? He might be able to shed some light on it."

"It doesn't look like his handwriting. So I don't know if he was the one that wrote it or not. But I just don't want him to know. Not until we figure out what it's for. But you have to see this."

"See? I thought it emitted a sound?"

"It emits _something_," he said cryptically.

"Okay. Well, turn it on," she finally agreed.

He flipped a switch on the side of the box and a light came on. He twisted a dial on top.

Olivia doubled over, yelling, grabbing her ears. Gene started mooing wildly and stamping around.

Peter quickly switched it off and was out of the chair and over to Olivia's side.

"What is it? Olivia, what happened?!"

He grabbed Olivia's arm as she tried to steady herself and stand upright again.

"What happened?" he was frantic. _What the hell did he do?_

She was gasping and finally he pulled her upright. She looked at him, she looked shocky and pale.

"That sound..."

"What sound! What sound?!" he grabbed both her arms.

"You didn't hear it? I almost passed out." she said weakly.

"I didn't hear anything!" he pulled the chair over and pushed her down into it. "Sit down."

He crouched down in front of her, face to face, his hands on each of her arms, and waited for her to compose herself, to say something.

"You didn't hear that?" she asked him, a little stronger this time.

He shook his head. His eyebrows were stitched together with worry.

"It was a horrendous noise, it felt like my bones were going to rattle right out of my body." She felt slightly nauseous but it was quickly going away.

"I didn't hear anything, I didn't feel anything." _What the hell?_

"Did you know this was going to happen?"

"What?! No! There was a secondary effect from it. Something I wanted you to see. A shimmering..."

"Peter, why? Why did you do this?"

Was he being accused of something? Why _did_ he do this? He should have just kept his big mouth shut and kept it hidden away in its locked cabinet. "I've been meaning to show it to you. But there was never a good time. I thought you should know. Do you remember the case where the witnesses heard the loud noise and the truck mysteriously appeared? After that case, I remembered the drawings and I think this is similar to what they were using. A crude, crude version, though."

"Why would you risk using it, knowing what happened during those cases?" she asked of him, incredulous at his naivete. For someone with a 190 IQ he sometimes didn't show it very well.

He stammered, caught off guard, "I--I studied it. I modified it so it didn't use as much power as the original drawings called for. I tried it, nothing bad happened, so I thought it was safe."

Gene snorted over in the corner, shaking her head gently. _Oh great, even the cow was mad at him..._

"If you didn't know what it was, how did you know it was safe before you turned it on the first time?" she rubbed at her temples. "What if it _did_ affect you and you were unable to turn it off in time? You're just like Walter! No boundary exists that you might think twice about before crossing!" she spat at him like venom.

He stood up from her and backed away. He had no witty comeback for that, no sarcasm to deflect it away from him. All he could do was take it, like a punch in the gut. Was he just like his father? Had he thought about the consequences before building it? Before turning it on?

He had!

He'd made sure nobody else was in the lab with him. In fact, it had also been an early Sunday morning that first time he tried it. Nobody sane on campus worked early Sunday mornings. But had he properly weighed the repercussions?

Yes, he thought he had, but he'd tried it out anyways. His curiosity getting the better of him.

Exactly what Walter probably would do. Probably did do. And one breakthrough led to another and another until...

He just stared at her. He couldn't say anything to counter her accusation. There was nothing _to_ say. He was guilty. He was horrified. The one thing in life he never, ever wanted to be was anything like his old man. And there he was, on a Sunday morning, _when no sane person would be working on campus_, experimenting in Walter's laboratory.

This was the exact reason he had gotten as far away from his father as humanly possible.

She stared back at him, he seemed petrified. She knew she was taking out her anger on the wrong Bishop, but it was almost inexcusable for Peter to be so careless. The damage he could have done! The damage he _might_ _have_ _already_ done somewhere. If there was anything to be learned it was that this kind of technology was not to be taken lightly.

She was looking at him like she was hurt and disgusted at his actions. Peter stumbled back a step and bumped into the table behind him, cylinders and test tubes clinking together lightly.

"I wasn't thinking," he managed to answer her quietly. It was his only defense. It sounded so hollow.

He gripped the edge of the table to hold him steady as he was getting lost in a haze. Someone else had shouted those same accusations to him, a woman with blonde hair, years before in this very lab. She'd stood toe to toe with him. Accusing him of not knowing his boundaries, that he was breaking not only criminal laws, but laws that were never meant to be broken. Just like before. _ Just like with Peter... _she shouted_. _She was older, so it wasn't Olivia. Who was she? He swallowed bile as it raced up from his stomach.

_Just like with Peter..._

"Why weren't you affected by it?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

But he didn't answer her, just stood there with his own look of shock, staring into the distance behind her. The table the only thing holding him upright.

"Peter?" she called his name.

She felt okay enough and stood up and walked over to him. She waved a hand in front of his face. No response. She grabbed his hand from behind him and the shock must have woken him up. He focused on her. She could see the tension in his jaw, in his face.

And he was surprised she was so close.

"Peter," she said firmly.

He looked at her finally, but still he didn't say anything for the longest time. He was not only glimmering again now, but in his eyes she thought she saw a strange flickering light. And it was almost as if they weren't his. Familiar, yes, but not his. She was beyond concern now, this was just creepy.

"I've broken not only criminal laws, but laws that were never meant to be broken," he said to her.

She was confused by his statement.

"What are you talking about?"

"Just like before."

"What do you mean '_just like before_'?"

"Just like with Peter." he said.

He was really scaring her now. "Hey!" she said loudly, squeezing his hand hard. She felt chills rolling down her spine. _Peter's not here, please leave a message after the beep... _ She used her nails and dug into the skin of his hand.

And he seemed to snap out of it, grabbed his hand away from her.

"What the hell," he looked down at the red half-moon nail marks on the back of his hand.

She stared at him. She could see him glimmering, her fear had brought it back with a vengeance. But the flickering light in his eyes was gone. Maybe it was just her imagination. But it scared the shit out of her.

"What the hell, is right," she said back to him.


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9

Peter stares back at Olivia like _she's_ the crazy one...

"Why did you say that?" she demanded.

"Say what?"

"Some crazy Walter-speak--'You've broken laws that weren't meant to be broken. Just like before.'" she paraphrased. "What the hell does that mean?"

Lines were blurring, thoughts splintering and he really thought he'd only said that stuff in his head...

"I just had the strangest sense of deja vu," he said vaguely. "So strange..." he rubbed his forehead. Damage control was all he could do now. He slumped back against the lab table, lost in thought. His earlier burst of exuberance drained away. He couldn't let her know that the only logical, totally sane explanation for what he had seen and what he had been seeing, was that he'd been inside Walter's head. That he had seen it through his father's eyes. Or through his memories.

And if that was the sane conclusion, he hated to think what the insane one was.

"Are you _sure_ that this device isn't affecting you?" she said leaning into his space and peering into his blue eyes. "And you just don't realize it?"

He held her gaze, felt her breath close to his face, had hoped that when she looked into his soul like this, it would have been a bit more romantic, less scientific, in nature. These were perhaps inappropriate thoughts at this moment in time.

"When I turn it on, I see something," he said dreamily. "Something right there, right in front of me, but it's not there." Olivia broke the connection first and backed away as he continued. "Maybe it affects the eye's blind spot. Our brain just fills in the blanks. So if you could disrupt or affect that blank spot somehow... Like Edina..." Shook his head. "I don't know, I don't know, I can't pick hypotheticals out of thin air. I'm not Walter." Olivia saw the pained expression flit over his face as he said it.

"No, you're not. Walter is a breed all of his own," she said.

"He and I are more alike than I care to admit. I have my secrets and he has his. Secrets we both want to take to the grave but they're spilling out right and left. And now, I can't even tell them apart any more."

She reached out and put her hand over his. "We'll get to the bottom of it," she said.

He stared at their hands, felt her warmth radiating into him. It gave him an idea, a wild idea, and his brain started talking before he could think twice and veto it. "Would you humor me, Olivia, for just a minute?" he asked her.

"I can try," she said cautiously.

"I know you're not going to like this, but just hear me out. I'd like to turn the device on again. Maybe if you know what's going to happen you'll have time to adjust to it, to see. I want you to see. Just one look, Olivia."

She narrowed her eyes and let go of his hand. "Are you nuts? Why would I let you do that? Didn't you hear what I said before? You're playing with fire, Peter."

"Do you trust me?"

Oh, he _would_ pull the trust card on her. And that was the crux of the problem, _did_ she trust him? He was under a load of emotional stress, could have just torn a hole into another universe and he wanted her to _humor_ him?

"What would that accomplish? What could turning it back on do?" she said.

"I have an idea," he said. He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "If-- I can adjust the frequency, lower it, maybe that will counteract what you felt. And maybe you'll see what I'm talking about." His heart was beating fast, palms suddenly sweaty.

She looked into his eyes and he looked back at her. And she wanted to trust him, but trust was wearing thin these days.

But strangely, she was actually thinking of letting him do it. Her curiosity was piqued and she did want to see what he was talking about. Walter had told her about the viewer, maybe this was a prototype. And it would be very handy to see what the other side was doing if it did indeed work.

"You just say the word, yell, scream, anything, and it's off. And I won't ever turn it on again." Peter said as sincerely as he could.

It was lunacy. She threw up her hands. "Fine. I don't know why I'm agreeing to this, it's a bad idea, but fine."

He was shocked, he thought he'd have to fight her a bit more. "Really? It's only a hunch I have, it may not even work." This was him covering his ass. He couldn't believe she had agreed. Maybe he secretly hoped she wouldn't.

He kept looking at her, making sure she was serious.

"Just get on with it before I change my mind," Olivia responded.

He pushed away from the table and walked back to the desk. She had to see, he would _make_ her see. He had a plan, he only hoped it worked.

He opened the clasps on the box that held the device, grabbed his pliers and sat down. He flashed on the memory of the two of them in the bar, exchanging magic tricks. His had been a simple trick of deception. While Olivia's had been a card counting trick. On the surface. But he never saw her look at the cards and it had always bugged him. He swallowed, tried not to look in her direction, forced his mind blank. He twisted the pliers, but he only pretended, his sleight of hand obscured by the box's lid and the rows of wires, transistors and resistors. And Olivia's distance.

He fit the lid back onto the base, his fingers a little clumsier than usual, and was finally able to look up at her.

He was pushing it, now. Pushing her trust in him to the breaking point. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, though. But science did not exist without risk. He knew this was the only setting that worked, that saw into the other world, so he couldn't change it. He hadn't wanted to call it that—another world-- it bordered on the ridiculous. But he hadn't wanted to bias her one way or another until she saw it for her own eyes and could give him her trained opinion. Or tell him he was a nutso and called for the padded wagon. He would almost willingly go at this point. An extended pharmaceutical vacation from reality sounded quite nice these days.

He tried to relax, but he was all nerves. He hoped this wasn't a big mistake. Sensed that it wasn't. If he believed with every cell in his body that his uncanny ability to calm her could work in this instance, he was sure it would. Sensed it all throughout him. Although there was that little part of him, screaming at him to stop, that he shouldn't abuse her trust in him like this, that he was replacing science with faith in an ability he didn't quite understand. He told the voice to shut up.

He stood and motioned to Olivia who was standing defensively a few feet away. "Come stand here," he said pointing next to him.

She looked at him warily.

"Humor me," he gave her a lopsided smile.

She said nothing and walked over to him, stood next to the desk. He grabbed her arm and gently pulled her a foot closer to him.

"Now, just look ahead, look around, but be aware of the sides of your vision."He instructed her, very close to her ear so that it tingled down her neck. _ And try to see it before you pass out... _ he hastily said to himself, leaning down to flip the switch on the side.

"I'll try," she said, taking a few deep breaths in anticipation.

He hated himself at that moment. And loved her with all his heart. He would never do anything to hurt her, but it would work. It would...

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes."

He grabbed her hand at the last moment, intertwined it in his with a firm grip, another moment lost to scientific purposes, and then twisted the dial.

Gene started snorting and mooing.

A waviness engulfed Olivia's vision momentarily and she glanced at their hands and then up at Peter in surprise. From the corners of his vision, he could see her eyes squint, her jaw clench and she looked away. But she didn't keel over and her bones were not rattling out of her body. His right hand hovered over the dial, if she looked like she was in distress or about to pass out, he would switch it off quick.

But she seemed fine.

And then Olivia started looking around the room. She put her left hand out in front of her, as if trying to reach for something. She wasn't passing out and he took that as a good sign. He gripped her hand tighter.

"Do you see it?" he looked down at her, breathless.

Maybe his crazy, crazy hunch was working...

He didn't need to look around, he knew what he would see.

It was Walter's lab. But yet, it wasn't. The room was dark and dismally empty, tables and desks and old file cabinets were stacked against the brick walls under dusty canvases. A layer of dust covered everything. Cobwebs inhabited the corners and grime now covered the windows obscuring the view outside. He looked down at the ground and knew he would see the dried up body of a dead mouse lying on the floor a few feet away. It was almost like the day they had first walked in two years before. Only it was a mirage that conflicted with what he saw out of the corners of his eyes. His optical nerve and brain in overdrive in order to process the information it was getting. It was dizzying. Mystifying. How was any of it possible?

Olivia was in awe of what she was seeing all around and the frantic mooing and Peter's hushed voice were far back in her mind. Time seemed to stand still, the room alive yet dead. Her only link to reality--or the concept formerly known as reality--was Peter's hand in hers. Was it trickery of the eyes maybe? Like Edina? Were they time traveling? Were they glimpsing the other side? So many questions and she couldn't even voice them.

Peter was tentative as he stood guard for any sign of discomfort or pain in Olivia's demeanor, but she only continued to stare around in wonder like a kid in a toy store.

She tugged on his hand and began to move forward, but he gripped her hand tightly and pulled her back.

"Don't let go," he told her, wide-eyed and panicky.

She glanced at him sideways and nodded. If she looked directly at him, he wasn't there. It was spooky.

She led him out to the main room, carefully trying not to stumble into anything real or imaginary that might break their connection. It was quite difficult to navigate while seeing and processing two different images. He thought maybe they looked like a pair of zombies shambling around on the set of a B-movie.

Peter had never ventured this far out into the lab the other times he had experimented with the device. But as he looked around the barren, grey room he could clearly see black scorch marks in the middle of the floor and charred ceiling tiles. He squeezed her hand tighter.

"Do you see this?" he exclaimed, in his excitement almost forgetting to keep their hands locked, but she held onto him tight. He quickly walked a few paces forward and bent down, needing to touch the floor to see for himself that this wasn't all in his mind.

And he ran his head right into a table that hadn't been in front of him, yet solidly, painfully, was.

"Damn it," he rubbed the front of his skull and gingerly bent down again, careful this time to keep his hand firmly in Olivia's. But she wasn't letting go either. She crouched down with him and he rubbed his fingers over the darkened scars on the floor that he could see, but not feel. He was sure he would see black smudges on his fingers when he pulled them away, but there was nothing except a little dust.

And then it all faded away.

"No!" he said out loud. It ended too soon.

Olivia cleared her throat and found her voice finally. "Are you okay?"

They were back in the lab and it was early Sunday morning and the light was streaming in the windows.

"The batteries must have died," Peter said quietly. But he didn't let go of her hand. He met her incredulous eyes as they crouched together on the floor, awestruck.

"Did you see it?" he asked her again.

The buzzing that had been residing in the back of her skull was fading. She didn't answer him at first and his worry ratcheted up a notch.

"Olivia, did you see it?" he demanded of her. He didn't want to raise his voice, but it just came out that way.

She nodded and looked around. "That was... incredible." She hadn't realized her heart had been racing full tilt out of control.

"Did you see the floor? The ceiling? Evidence of a fire..." he trailed off looking at the bare floor like it held the secrets of the cosmos.

"Was that... the other side?" she asked him.

"I—I think so."

* * *

_Me: I want to say this is it for this story, it bookended kind of how I wanted it to. Maybe if I continue the story it will be another separate adventure... If anybody's still reading and following along, thanks a bunch. Reviews are appreciated, good and bad. _


End file.
